


Minuet

by Argyle



Category: The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-21
Updated: 2007-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:21:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To understand all is to forgive all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minuet

“And what happened next?” the Mole asked. He was leaning forward on the breakfast table, elbows braced against oak and chin propped atop paws; the Rat thought such a position rather uncouth, but made no comment. Instead, he sipped his tea thoughtfully, and nibbled a thin piece of toast before answering:

“Well! He sorted through the crates -- very _carefully_ removing all traces of chocolate and whipping cream, you see, as not to disturb the marbles -- and continued on with the journey _without_ the assistance of a certain band of Austrian voles.”

“It is a pity they escaped!”

“Yes, but only to find themselves in a worse scrape once they set out to return home. Their own carriage had been ruined by the storm, you see.” He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin and crossed his ankles in comfortable satisfaction. “Bye the by, Lady Elgin was so pleased with the promptness of the delivery that she recommended him for a certificate of approval from the Prince Regent himself.”

“Gracious, but he must have felt _quite_ honored.”

“He did not accept it, of course.” The Rat shook his head soberly, but could not disguise the trace of mirth that hung about his mouth. “He always said the perils of the journey were a small price to pay for the opportunity to glimpse the Lady’s smile, and that he would go through it all again without a moment’s hesitation.”

“O, my,” the Mole laughed. “I daresay your great uncle led a very adventurous life.”

“Indeed, he did.”

“But tell me, Rat. Why have you not chosen to do so yourself? To feel the wind in your fur, and the sun across your brow; to hear the sound of a thousand seabirds in flight at once.” He clapped his paws together in excitement, jingling the cups and saucers. “You’ve said it is like thunder.”

The Rat was silent as he considered his words. He saw the kettle on the stove, and the flame behind the grill; he heard the gentle current of the River, and the rustle of leaves as the great boughs of the elm swayed with the early breeze. It was August, and the light of day had already begun to change, but even tucked amidst the shadows of their home, the Mole’s eyes shone.

“Well,” the Rat said at last. “I feel I’ve done rather well for myself here. Besides which, if I left, who would see to the riverbank? Who would collect apples before the first frost?” He shook his head, cleared his throat, and gazed fondly out the open window.

A grinning face popped into view where only the elm ought to have been. “And who would prepare the cider we’re all so madly fond of?” it cried, eyebrows waggling. “I do so wish it were autumn now that I might have a cup.”

“Really, Toad,” said the Rat, “I thought you’d finished with the stuff.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, not when it’s yours!” Toad replied. The Rat heard a thump as Toad fell back from the window, and the scramble of feet in the grass as Toad made for the door. It was all he could do to jump from his own chair in a flutter of pleated newspaper, motion for the Mole to set out another cup, and swing the door open just as Toad raised his fist to knock.

“Good morning, Ratty! Hullo, Mr. Mole.” Toad glanced between them as he stepped inside. “I hope I’m not disturbing anything?”

“No. Mole and I were just having a bit of--”

“Breakfast? How remarkable!” Toad took a seat at the table. “I’ve only just eaten a plate of poached eggs, but I should love a bit more tea and toast. Or do you have any of those delightful seedcakes?”

“Certainly,” the Rat said with a nod. He had only returned from the shops with a fresh parcel the day before; Toad had quite depleted their supply of them on his last visit, just as he did on the visit before.

Toad smiled down at his plate. “Thank you, my dear,” he said between bites. “I don’t know what I should do without you. I’ve been rather at my wit’s end of late, you know. Preparing for parties can be such a dreadful bother, and it leaves me feeling absolutely famished at all hours of the day.”

“O?” asked the Mole, spooning fresh tea into the pot.

“Certainly!” Toad laughed. “There’s to be champagne and dancing, _foie gras_ and fireworks, baccarat and a Portuguese Count. Strictly black-tie, of course, but I will spare no expense. The guest list is utterly selective, ultimately hand-picked for the brightest and best.”

“Indeed?” the Rat said against the rim of his cup. The morning post had brought with it a letter from his elder sister and an advertisement for a new sort of figgy oat cake; tucked between them was an announcement for the ball which was to be held at Toad Hall the following week.

He had frowned and set his spectacles down to the table as he asked the Mole whether he knew of it, but his friend merely shook his head and continued with his chores. Indeed, the Rat had searched his own memory for some spark of recognition, some saving grace by which he might place Toad into the domain of the absentminded, and even as the details of the ball danced before his eyes in clear black typeset, he found none.

Toad had failed to invite them.

Now, seeing Toad seated at their table, seeing Toad just as he always was, he was not so sure. Could it not have been a mistake after all?

The Rat waited for Toad produce a sheaf of ornate cards, one for each of them, and yet more for the Otter and the Badger, whom they would no doubt come across long before Toad did. But Toad merely finished his second breakfast, congratulated the success they’d found with their vegetable garden that year, and (quite self-consciously, the Rat thought) eyed their dusty croquet set and requested a match.

“I _am_ sorry, Toad,” the Rat said, “but Moley and I were just preparing to step out.”

“We were?” The Mole glanced up, more interested in this sudden development than taken aback, before he caught himself, “Of course! There’s nothing like a bit of fresh air.”

And how Toad smiled at this, smiled and replied artfully, “I hope you did not suppose I meant to have the game _here_. Why, there’s no room at all! Your den is so very small, and I should hate to muss your charming old floors.”

The Rat and the Mole exchanged a glance.

In short order, they set up the game behind the great elm.

At noon, the Rat won a round. At two, the Mole won another.

By teatime, the sky had darkened with a great bank of clouds, and it was decided that they would break. But then Toad set his foot down. Just as the first drops of rain dashed down upon their course, he sighed, drew from his waistcoat a handkerchief of violet silk, blew his nose with every accent of emotion, and exclaimed: “I am not at my best today, as you can plainly observe, but see how I’m trying. Be a sport, Ratty. Have a heart, Mole. Let us go for one more!”

So slick did the lawn become in the following minutes that it was something of a surprise to the Rat that they were all able to remain standing. In fact, Toad did so well in the damp, was so steady and true, that he was able to take a running leap towards his ball and kick it with utmost force and will. Then he hopped left, dodged right, tossed his mallet away to better cradle his foot.

“Toad! Are you quite all right?” the Rat asked, dropping his own mallet and dashing over the verge.

“All right? I’m dying!” Toad cried. Rain ran down his cheeks. “It is over.”

To which the Mole replied, “What can we do for you, Mr. Toad? You need only say the word!”

And the word Toad said made the Rat’s tail twitch.

They all but carried him into the guest bedroom. The Mole pulled back the blankets, and the Rat eased Toad down beneath them, moaning all the while.

“O, he must be hurt quite badly,” the Mole said, a while later, and set the kettle to boil.

“Nothing a good night’s rest won’t cure.” The Rat took a deep breath before returning to Toad’s room, where he found Toad staring out the window, an expression of utmost frustration etched across his round features. Quite gently, he asked, “How is your toe?”

“I daresay it is very painful, but I hope to be up and about again soon.”

“Good,” the Rat replied. “I am glad to hear it. I should hate for you to miss your party.”

“O, _that_ ,” Toad said. “I was thinking about it again, and, well...” he trailed off, smoothing the blanket across his lap in thought. After a pause, he glanced up. “Perhaps you’d like to come after all? I suppose it will be rather a rout, and I understand you likely have another commitment, but I should quite like it if you were there.”

“Thank you, Toad, but I am really not sure--”

“Mr. Mole is invited as well, of course. You _will_ tell him I said so, won’t you?”

The Rat let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Certainly.”

“You’re not cross, are you, Ratty?” Toad asked as he settled his head against the mound of pillows. The last rays of evening light cast a violet streak of shadow across his brow, and one might easily enough attribute the telling glint in his eyes to a mere trick of the mind or a guttering reflection from the lamp.

The Rat sighed. “Of course I’m not cross.” He knew that his laughter was a bit too abrupt as to sound cordial, though the day had been long and Toad did not seem to take notice. “Do let me know if you need anything else. I shan’t be far.”

“Splendid.” Toad smiled serenely and closed his eyes.

The Rat turned to go, treading as quietly as he could.

And then: “Ratty?”

“Hmm?” The Rat paused and eased his grasp upon the doorknob. “What is it, then?”

“You are a good friend.” Toad’s voice had softened. “I do not know what I would do without you.”

There were a great many imaginings to be borne upon such words, quite a few of which were linked to the inherent opportunities for mischief and the imminent threat of punishment, but it was the unspoken affection, the quiet longing, that prompted the Rat to return to Toad’s bedside. “That’s quite all right.” He cleared his throat, acutely aware of the tremor in his voice. “Sleep well,” he said, and pressed Toad’s paw.


End file.
